


What an enemy

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Crushes, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14612397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “Y’know when you flirt-shout that the whole canyon can hear you, right? Not just the part that you have a crush on?”“I have no such thing as a-- I would never-- fraternizing with the enemy is a sin worthy of death!”





	What an enemy

The sky is clear and bright blue, and really, it’s an affront to common Red human decency. Sarge should balance the scales by painting the ground red with blood. 

“HEY BLUE,” he roars. The canyon walls carry his booming voice to the other side of their highly important and vital box easily, like they were made for it. 

“WHAT!?” That damned Blue leaders voice echoes back to him almost immediately. Quick as a cheetah to respond! How absolutely diabolical of him to not let his guard down. No wonder Red Team has somehow not managed to beat them yet. 

“DID YA HAVE A NICE BREAKFAST?” 

A beat of baffled silence. Sarge bites his tongue and panics for a moment before a recovery occurs to him. “WHA--”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE GONNA BE SERVED A HEAPING PLATE OF BITTER DEFEAT FOR LUNCH!” 

“OH, FUCK YOU!” 

And with that, the light blue dot off in the distance stomps off down and into his base. Sarge imagines that he’d slam the door behind him if there was one. 

He chuckles smugly. “I win this round, Blue.” 

He marches back down into his own base to find Grif eating an MRE that he shouldn’t be in the kitchen. 

“Grif, you useless black hole, you’re gonna singlehandedly send us into a food shortage!” he barks. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, which is befuddling enough that it knocks him off of his roll for a moment until he opens his ungrateful mouth back up to shove another forkful of food into his mouth like coal being shoveled into a steam engine that does nothing but nap and say, “You probably want to save these for your boyfriend, huh?” 

He splutters. Manfully. 

_ “What!?” _ he calmly exclaims. 

“Y’know when you flirt-shout that the  _ whole _ canyon can hear you, right? Not just the part that you have a crush on?” 

“I have no such thing as a-- I would  _ never-- _ fraternizing with the enemy is a sin worthy of death!” 

“And that’s what makes it so  _ romantic,” _ Donut sighs dreamily, swooning his way into the kitchen. “The tension! Romeo and Juliet! Forbidden love!” 

“Perjury!” he declares. “Blasphemy! Filthy, shameless _ lies.”  _

“Okay,” Grif says. “But let me know if you ever find out if Church had a nice breakfast, okay? I’m burning with platonic curiosity, just like any enemy would.” 

“Oh, Sarge!” Donut gasps. “Do you want for me to pack a romantic picnic basket for you? Imagine it--”

_ “I will do no such thing,” _ he says. A checkered red and white blanket spread out on the dusty ground, strawberries and lemonade and sandwiches, trading insults and death threats as they both try and guess which food is or isn’t poisoned-- NO GODDAMNIT. “I’m married to the war, damn it!” 

“Our war with the Blues,” Grif says. 

“So you could say that you’re technically married to the Blues,” Donut picks up his gist smoothly. 

“Simmons and Lopez wouldn’t do this to me,” he says. 

“Or maybe just the Blue Team leader,” Grif says, ignoring him. 

“Since when did you two get along!?” he demands of them, and then stomps out of the kitchen. “Insubordinate!” 

“I’m sure you’ll nail Church yet, Sarge!” Donut calls after him. 

“Was that even an innuendo?” Grif asks. 

  
  


The air is sweltering, the heat damned near visible as he glares at the Blue Team base. Thank god for temperature adjusting armor. This is why he never takes off the thing. That, and he looks damned dashing in it, not to toot his own horn. Oh, and it’s protective qualities, he supposes. He’d definitely be able to mow down a small army in just a t shirt, though, Rambo style. 

That light blue color is unmistakable as it makes its appearance on the other side of the canyon, though, heat mirages or no. It’s his  _ archenemy. _ His Moriarty. His Lex Luthor. His Robbie Rotten, except Sportacus was a ninny because he wore blue. 

He opens his mouth to bellow, and then closes it, thinking  _ the whole canyon can hear you. _ He reconsiders his words, which he’s unused to. What’s something someone who definitely doesn’t have a crush would say? Because he definitely doesn’t have one. 

_ I don’t care about you.  _

But… he does. He hates him with a  _ passion.  _ Crushing the Blues is his reason for getting up in the morning. His life goal, his aspirations, his drive, his dream. It’s him, Church driven to his knees before him-- okay that went in a wrong direction, he’s talked too much with Donut. It’s not romantic though, is his point, it’s  _ hate.  _ It’s completely different--

“HEY RED,” Church shouts, the canyon walls carrying his voice to him like they were made for it. 

“WHAT!?” he shouts back immediately. 

“YOU SEEM QUIET TODAY!” 

There’s a moment of baffled silence as he tries to parse that. What was he getting at, that almost sounded like  _ concern,  _ which makes zero sense at all. “WHA--” 

“FINALLY ACCEPTED THAT YOU’RE GONNA LOSE!?” he jumps in almost desperately, and Sarge curses, outraged. What a deft insult! The setup, the misleading silence to build up tension, and then the devastating blow! And all of it improvised, as hard as it is to believe. He’s been  _ burned.  _

_ “NEVER,”  _ he proclaims at the top of his lungs, incandescent with rage. “I’LL NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU, BLUE! I’LL FIGHT YOU UNTIL MY DYING BREATH! YOU’LL NEVER GET RID OF ME!” 

“OH YEAH!?” Church asks, and if he sounds relieved then that’s just the heat cooking his brains a little. The temperature regulators must be on the fritz. “YOU’LL NEVER GET RID OF  _ ME, _ SARGE! I’M GONNA WIN THIS!”

“AS IF!” he retaliates, feeling giddy-- with bloodlust. This absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent isn’t a crush-- but whatever it is, it’s mutual. 

“Gaaay!” Tucker calls out from inside Blue base. 

Sarge and Church both splutter in unison. Manfully. 

“I’M NOT--”

“THIS ISN’T--”

“HELL NO--”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT--”

“I’D NEVER--”

“Caboose, you can punch him!” Church snaps. 

Caboose cheers, Tucker screams, and Sarge sighs in a way that isn’t even remotely dreamy. What an enemy. 


End file.
